


The Throne

by Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog



Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/pseuds/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki knows his brother's mind well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [countessrivers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessrivers/gifts).



> Posted originally on tumblr, because Megamoose wanted throne-sex

 

Thor shivers, mesmerized by those slender fingers as they trace the golden patterns etched into the arms of the throne.

His brother pays him no mind, eyes vacant, fixed on some other point in time and space that his quicksilver mind has swept him to, far too swift for Thor to ever hope to follow. How very like their father – and at once Thor is filled with such melancholy he can no longer bear to look.

His eyes fall instead to the decorative gilt of the throne, spread like golden wings, and a smile touches his lips as he fancies himself sitting there, as glorious as an eagle with giant wings outstretched. How mighty he will appear.

"You are thinking something foolish, brother," observes a cool voice, breaking through his daydream.

Starting, he glances at Loki, who is eyeing him with a sly grin.

He scoffs, playfully cuffing his brother on the arm. "You aren't so clever as to know my mind _that_ well, brother," and as expected, Loki's grin widens at the opening.

"Do not underestimate my skills," Loki admonishes cheekily. "I have long since mastered the art of reading others, and you, brother mine, are by far the easiest subject."

Thor grins, excitement uncurling in his belly at the prospect of a challenge. Sparring and journeying with his companions to the other realms was all well and good, but none could offer so invigorating a game as his devious brother, and they'd not matched themselves against one another for some time.

Tilting up his chin in the way he _knows_ that his brother detests, Thor bares his teeth challengingly. “You speak so surely, but your words are empty, brother. I know my mind and heart are yet hidden from you.”

Loki’s eyebrows shoot up at the jab, but his eyes light with merriment at their game. His lips twist, smile turning wicked as he twirls about, smoothly throwing himself onto the throne in a lazy sprawl, body arranged to be as daring as any spoken taunt.

The sight before him, the thrill of the challenge, that goading _smile_ – all of it makes Thor’s pulse quicken, dark heat coiling in his chest, his belly, snaking along under his very skin. Wetting his suddenly dry lips, he meets his brother’s piercing gaze head-on.

“Shall I speak your mind for you, brother?” murmurs Loki, fingers idly stroking the arms of the throne, and Thor can’t resist focusing on their movement, something sensual in the way the tips skim over the golden engravings.

“You are full of desire, brother,” says Loki, voice soft as smoke. “This throne – our father’s throne, nay, _Asgard’s_ throne – that which you have longed for, and been promised all your life. This seat of power; this beautiful, mesmerising, _horrid_ thing. You long for it, crave it, so much so that it makes you sick with yearning. Your every movement, your every word and action is guided by this want, until your head is full of nothing else. How you covert it! Why, you _dream_ of it, such is your craving.”

Thor shifts his stance, eyes locked on his brother as those poisonous, enthralling words roll over him. His skin feels too hot, his clothes too confining, and his hands itch for something to hold, to grasp.

Loki, gaze dark and full of promise, speaks on. “As you stand, you see that which is rightfully yours, and you _want_. To stroke your fingers over it – though you already know the texture – but you ache to learn anew. Ah, but to see and to own – how different they are. Once it is yours, you must explore every inch; imprint it in your mind so that you know it as surely as yourself. Oh, how you wish to mark it, lay your claim upon it so that all might see that it is yours. But you will not; much as you desire otherwise, you cannot bring yourself to tarnish its beauty, knowing that no matter how much you press your hands to it, grip it tight, or stroke its length, you will never leave your mark. Never _truly_ possess it.”

Thor is shaking now, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps. He sways forward drunkenly, stumbling on the gilt steps. Loki quirks a brow, mouth curled in amusement, but he tilts his hips, stretching out long legs to mask the invitation that it is. Thor does nothing to dampen his groan at the sight.

Settling back into the throne, Loki raises his hand and curls it in a languid motion, an enticing version of a king’s summons. Thor scrambles to obey. Loki smirks, pleased, when he reaches the throne, pushing his legs forward so he can stand between his spread thighs.

Tilting his chin up at his brother, Loki face darkens knowingly. “Tell me brother, am I wrong? Do I not know your mind?”

When Thor speaks, his voice rumbles like the very thunder he commands. “You are not, brother. I am as you say.”

Loki’s blue-green eyes sharpen, like a snake that has caught the flicker of a tail in the grass. “Show me, brother,” he hisses, a command that drips venom. “Show me I am right.”

Thor widens his stance, forcing Loki’s thighs further apart. He doesn’t miss the heated flash that burns in his brother’s eyes at that action. Leaning down, he lets his hair fall over his shoulders, the golden tips framing the curve of Loki’s upturned face.

“When I am king,” Thor murmurs, mouth close enough to nearly graze his brother’s, “I will have all that I desire in my grasp, and as certain as the stars in the sky, I will not let that which is mine _ever_ be taken from me. All that is in this room and all that I see before me _will be mine_.”

He can feel the smile form against his mouth; feel the tip of a tongue dart out to wet soft lips. That hand – that long-fingered, nimble, knowing hand – comes up to twist into his hair, tugging at his thick braid.

“Show me, brother.”

And Thor is sure he can almost feel it, _feel_ Loki’s voice in his mind, his veins, a dark whisper that coils through him like smoke and fire. Loki’s eyes dance with wicked light.

“Show me why this throne is yours.”


End file.
